Praises. Lake Piru brings Rivera home

Terrific news accompanies my morning coffee.

Naya Rivera’s body has been found.

Surfaced 5 days after she went swimming in Lake Piru during a boating outing with her young son, who is with family.

Recovery is cause to rejoice!

First and essentially, for her family, their grieving, processing and healing. Unknowns of a Person Missing hang like a daunting pendulum. Body recovered, they can now move forward in their journey.

Second, it puts the brakes on Twitter insanities. From tweeters’ convictions that she was taken by human traffickers to killed by her ex-husband to abducted by aliens from a hovering UFO.

Actually no one suggested an alien grab but why not! As likely as every asinine absurdity!

Now, predictably, Twitter tides turn to condolences.

Outpourings of simple RIPs to full-force gushings from complete strangers. Some of these people may never get out of bed again, so profound and life-arresting is their grief.

I confess that I’ve never understood that intersection of celebrity and wild crazed-eye public.

One need only scan Kylie Jenner’s social media — scanning being the best method for all things Kardashian —  for a sample of people who verily worship the ground she walks on, want to be her and would lay their lives down for her. It’s nuts.

So, Rivera, 33 years old, “Glee actress” and mother to a 4-year-old boy, is recovered. It’s good.

I VERY RARELY toot my own horn. This occasion requires I raise brass.

In this case, I was right in my assessments. Right at every turn and step since her sudden disappearance 5 days ago.

Only statement I refrained from is that her body would be found. It could’ve gone two ways.

Lake Piru is large and its bed is extraordinarily thick with entanglements. Waters are murky with visibility of 1-2 feet.

“It’s like reading Braille,” said one diver negotiating entanglements.

“The water will give it up or it won’t,” I told a tweeter yesterday.

Today, in a seeming act of mercy, the water did.

Whether the water would or would not ultimately,  I never wavered from the certainty she had drowned — irrespective of social media’s massive and often nasty opinions to the contrary.

In 4 days submerged on Twitter engaging with hundreds of people, the 3 conversations / debates most memorable are:

  • She was killed by her ex husband
  • She was abducted by human traffickers
  • Lakes don’t have currents (that dude was defiantly stubborn, unmoving in his “fact”)

Only 24 hours ago I blogged how I wanted her body to surface for the family and to end the shit storm of conspiracy theories and putrid poppycock engulfing Twitter.

Praise the water.

Bless all rescue teams. From land to air to water, they employed massive resources and toiled hard, long, vigorously and intelligently.

And they did so amid a public throwing them SHIT and criticisms like enraged monkeys pitching 100-mph fast balls.

I’m ashamed of my fellow human beings. Hardly first time I’ve said that.

Anyway. Life flows on.

Water took Naya River’s life because she chose not to wear a life vest in a lake. Such a difference that seemingly simple choice made.

Upon a lake with a precedence of drownings for visitors deceived by a calm surface and ignorant or denying of undercurrents.

What’s Naya Rivera thinking from the other side, I’ve wondered.

Can’t know, who can.

But from what I’ve learned of her this past week, I’d reckon it’d sound something like I made a mistake. I should’ve worn the vest. I didn’t and because I didn’t I’ve brought so much grief and loss to the family I love.

Rest in peace, Naya Rivera.


Crashing conspiracies & a mom’s moment

Five minutes reading tweets about Naya Rivera.

That’s all it took today to arrive at a single determination:

God may her body be found.

Put this Twitter madness to rest.

My are the cockroaches swarming now since Naya Rivera disappeared. The “Glee” actress went missing while boating on Lake Piru and is presumed drowned.

Upon announcement on Wednesday Day 1, tweets centered around initial emotions: shock, surprise, disbelief, prayers.

There was no dearth of tweeters telling professional rescue teams how to do their job.

Some were well-meaning, many aggressively and hatefully bashed searchers and their methodologies.

Because Every Body Is a Detective on Twitter.

Now Day 4. Intensive search continues. Tweets have taken on a decidedly different tone from Day 1.


With a force that could move a mountain. Or two.

People are reading improbable, ridiculous and outright impossible scenarios into anything and everything.

A jet-skier is now a suspect. Or the murderer.

A cottage on the shore needs to be investigated.

A blue truck is suspect. Ditto very vehicle in the lot. 

A divination lady proclaims the actress is alive but her head’s “messed” up and she’s in a wheelchair and can be found by clearing eastwide woods.

Wayfair furniture store is involved in human trafficking of kids and adults and the actress is being held at a location whose coordinate points are revealed by various documents and convoluted machinations that even Einstein couldn’t unravel.

That’s my best translation from madness.

Shall I continue? You get the drift.

The cascading conspiracy theories are unreal.

Meanwhile, there is one moment of real. A heavy moment made refreshing because it is real.

Her mother and brother today at the lake, at the boating dock, the mother dropping to her knees, stretching her arms toward the water.

Ultimately, these are their moments and their story.

Their moments and their story shine a light beam into this dark cavern of twisted tweets and expose it for what it is: utter pure bullshit.

Crazed know-it-alls and bumbling idiots in a bubble of social media spouting their constructs, conjectures, convictions and certainties.

It’s what people do, have always done. Rivera’s disappearance isn’t evoking anything new or unusual.

Only seems so due to amplification of crickets and crazies thanks to social media.

In today’s swelling tsunami of chaos, I’m reminded of a truth simple and humbling:

A family is without a daughter and sibling and a son, 4 years old, is without his mother.

That is what is real.

Not some blue truck pegged as dodgy for some tweeter’s imaginary reason.

Not a jet-skier already judged, convicted and imprisoned for homicide before he’s identified.

I’d never heard of Naya Rivera until she disappeared. She drowned; that is my conclusion today as it was four days ago.

My hope for the family is that they’re staying off social media.

Keep it real.

My greatest hope is that her body is recovered. For you.

If that occurs, that too is real

Loss is real.

Grief is real.

I pray for your strength and communion in your season of need.

Awash in “Glee” gal & Twitter think tank

I waded through media mud so you don’t have to.

Naya Rivera.

An unknown to me — until Wednesday. Actress on TV’s “Glee,”33, singer.

She and her son were in a rental pontoon on Lake Piru in California. Lazy afternoon, fine weather, no crowds, boat floating.

From the craft mid-lake, they jump into water. Child is wearing a life vest provided on the boat. Naya is not wearing hers. They swim. She returns him to the boat. Then re-enters the water to swim. She disappears beneath the surface.

Presumed drowned — accurately.

Boat is soon easily found and in it her son, sleeping. He’s safe and reunited with family.

Search and rescue shifts to a challenging recovery. It’s a search and recovery of epic celebrity proportion. 

Trending story piqued my interest.

I jumped into Twitter with both feet.

Not because of who Naya Rivera is — a name only to me — but a passion for investigations, detective work, solving puzzles. And, frankly, I needed a break from the gluttony of covid – BS – scamdemic.

One more reason to take this rare celebrity-news plunge:

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to observe my fellow humans on Twitter in the wake of a Top Trending bombshell celebrity event.

My kamikaze dives into social media satisfy my reporter nature. They maintain my finger on the pulse of America, her culture, milieu and state of being. 

So for 12 hours I was submerged in Twitter.

You know the COURAGE that takes?! Absorbing and sopping up streaming thousands of snapshots from brains of people re: Naya Rivera’s disappearance. I surfaced for air only for coffee then beers — increasingly the longer I read — and a meal.

From voluminous Tweets Into Infinity, I culled a cross-section of opinion, verbatim, numbered, loosely grouped and noted FYI when necessary for your educational ease.

Remember: I waded through media mud so you don’t have to. So hike up them waders and slosh onward.

Mantra Mojo

1. “naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

naya rivera will be found alive and healthy

“I am manifesting this”

2. “Calling all of Gods divine angels to locate Naya. May she be found and united with her son and family. And so it is.”

Screw Searchers!

FYI: Multitudes of search parties from air to deep waters toil from daybreak to nightfall in and around the lake and surrounding hills. Then they pause work due to lack of visibility, risks and dangers and for safety, particularly for dive teams negotiating dark waters with 1-to-2 feet of visibility and a lakebed of twisted fallen trees, trunks, branches, roots and entanglements.

Many are majorily PISSED OFF by this. Pissed off and vicious, shouting “Searching should continue 24-7!!” 

3. “People are outraged because they stopped the search at what is the most crucial time. I’m from Colorado where hikers get lost ALL the time. Search parties have gone on through the night, in the snow, in the mountains using maybe not people on foot, but resources.”

4. “Tonight there’s a little child who wasn’t tucked into bed with a goodnight kiss and doesn’t know when mama is coming back out of the water. Get your ass back on that beach and bring Naya Rivera home!!”

5. “Your hearts and prayers did a real great job helping during the nine hours you wasted last night. Thanks. (ed. note: sarcasm)

There! There!

FYI: Video clips of airborne searches along the shorelines arouse tweets exclaiming “I see her! There on the shore! It’s her!” It’s not. It’s a shadow. A boulder. A land configuration. But you can’t challenge their certainty. Everybody on Twitter is a detective.


7. “There! By the water’s edge! A human shape!”

(No. It’s a log.)

Geographical Geniuses

FYI: Every Tom, Dick and Harry is qualified to tell highly-trained, skilled, experienced professional rescuers how to do their job.

8. “i looked and there are roads within walking distance from all points outside the lake. if she made it to one, she could of possibly flagged down a car and could be suffering from memory loss.”

9. “Many people who experience this become distorted. She may have passes out due to stress and wandered into the forest.”

10. “I’m sure she got lost and swam to the sand. the police need to pay attention to this.”


12. “it might also be a good idea to get dogs around the edges to see if they can smell a trace of her scent. since she was in water, it might be hard, but at this point it’s worth a try.”

13. “Please search around the lake in the mountains or something like that and also the specific place where the boat was please please bring her save home”

Science Fiction — No Double Feature

FYI: Voluminous tweets are bad science fiction dramas.

14. “Was there other boats around that day? Just wondering if maybe she was hit by a boat while swimming. This doesn’t make sense at all. It’s definitely suspect.”

15. “Maybe she’s not in the water. Look for tags on all cars going in out of the area after she was last seen. It’s possible the son took a nap and while she was swimming someone kidnapped her.”

16. “scan the surrounding area, I look on google maps and it’s possible for humans to walk around the area! she could be lost and confused.”

She Was My BFF! — Though We Never Met

17. “I can’t stop crying. In my heart she is like family. Please find her soon. For her family, friends and especially for her son.”

18. “bro this naya shit is fucking me up. i’m refreshing the feed every two seconds because i need to know that’s she’s okay. i am manifesting it. she better be okay.”

19. “if anyone thinks naya rivera is a bad mother or has ANYTHING to say about her other than that it’s absolutely tragic what happened then please block me and seek some help.”

20. “I’m going to bed and in not waking up till naya rivera is found alive and well.” (editor’s update: this tweeter did wake up, making her a liar)

The Jog from Unreal to Absurd is Short

21. “Until now, I never knew whom Naya Rivera was. Honestly, I would hate to hear that anything awful happens to anyone, but I kinda believe she committed suicide. As for her leaving her kid, though…that doesn’t sit right with me.”

22. “Was there other boats around that day? Just wondering if maybe she was hit by a boat while swimming. This doesn’t make sense at all. It’s definitely suspect.”

23. “Maybe she’s not in the water. Look for tags on all cars going in out of the area after she was last seen. It’s possible the son took a nap and while she was swimming someone kidnapped her.”

24. “Can motorized boats be on that lake? I’ve seen instances of people getting carbon monoxide poisoning while swimming and passing out.”

Race Card. Because Each Moment These Days Demands One

25. “I bet if she was white they wouldn’t have stopped searching.”

Now … {drumroll} … the grand finale:

We go to the special winners in the final category: What THE Fuck?!

In 3rd place:

“Just drain the lake.”

In 2nd place:

“i have a theory that her ex baby daddy killed her to be with his son full time. naya and ryan didn’t get along and the song lyrics are abt the baby daddy killing the baby momma to be closer to his son. they match perfectly.”

And the winner of tonight’s WTF Award:

“Does anyone else think she might’ve been trafficked?”

+ + +

Incidentally, I didn’t touch the treasure chest bursting with conspiracy theories. Haven’t the time or patience for that and neither do you.

You’ve heard their input, now here’s mine:

Naya Rivera was not wearing the required life vest (supplied on the boat) while boating and swimming.

People make bad decisions every day. Some are fatal. Sadly, hers brought loss of her life and loss of a mother to her son.

All things considered, I predict the body of Naya Rivera will surface, possibly later than sooner. If not — also a possibility — the body is resting in a watery grave of thick entanglements.

On a closing lighter note — if by a miracle I’m proven wrong and the authorities establish that she was abducted by human traffickers (sprung from thin air) during a lake excursion, I hereby shall personally deliver to that top tweeter a juicy reward and handwritten apology for disbelieving her.

Shake It Up, Yeah Yeah

Okay, no real relation to The Cars lyrics here.

But things are shakin’ in the East Valley of Phoenix.

Shake Shack is opening in Gilbert next week.

This contains no relevance in my life whatsoever.

I’ve never been to a Shake Shack (despite being a hamburger lover), though I’ve long been aware of its existence. One day perhaps.

This impending arrival brings to 5 the number of Shake Shacks in Arizona. So it’s big news here.

It’ll do wildly well in this new location in a humongous outdoor mall in Gilbert, which is the fastest-growing suburb of Phoenix. It is exploding.

It’s not that Shake Shack’s coming to my general area that makes it blog-worthy, rather what’s coming with it.

C-R-O-W-D-S. Massive humongous ginormous crowds. Blood-curdling crowds!

I’ve observed it time after time when popular food chains set up — Chick-fil-A … Jollibee … White Castle, to name just a few.

White Castle just debuted in Arizona — Scottsdale (aka Snotsdale) specifically.

People began lining up 4 days in advance! They camped on the sidewalk — you can do that in sunny Phoenix winters where it’s like 70 degrees in the day, 46 at night (21/8 C).

People arrive by the hundreds even thousands.

The really hard-core fans travel around the country just to attend opening days.

Who but the Rolling Stones or the Lord could generate such groupies?!

Here’s a pic of the White Castle opening.

Note: This is merely a fraction of the crowd. Only an aerial shot could capture the whole of it!

White Castle_Crowds in Line_1572009211

White Castle opens in Scottsdale, Arizona


The people may change but the numbers won’t when Shake Shack opens its doors in Gilbert next week.

MASSIVE crowds not only on opening day but well into the first months of operation are a given.

This phenomenon: I do not understand.

I’ve tried and tried and tried again to wrap my mind around it.

I cannot.

My deep aversion to crowds prevails. Ditto my common sense and reasoning.

I mean, if, say, a new iPhone were being sold on the cheap, I could understand, kinda sorta.

It wouldn’t compel me into those crowds — nuthin’ would — BUT for a $100 ($130 CAD) phone, a crazed turnout would make some sense.

But Shake Shack … White Castle … even that Popeye’s chicken sandwich that generated such mayhem, insanity, violence, assaults, threats with weapons … it’s FOOD, people.


It doesn’t contain nuggets of gold. There ain’t $100 bills in place of lettuce or a key to a Corvette tucked in a patty for some lucky customer.


Precedent predicts that SanTan Village in Gilbert will NOT BE THE PLACE TO BE next Wednesday!

Oh, I nearly forgot. The first 100 customers in line when the doors open at 11 a.m. will take home a free Shake Shack State Forty Eight T-shirt.

I’ve no idea what that shirt even means.

Dollars to donuts a thousand people at least will be able to enlighten me however!

So things are shakin’ in the East Valley of Phoenix.

I’ll be reserving my shakin’ for martinis in the quietude of my home, thankyouverymuch.



Yes, Virginia, there ARE just two types of people

“There are two types of people,” said my dad in one of his random bits of wisdom that’s remained in my brain for some 50 years.

“The Takers and the Givers,” said he.

Oh. How. Right. He. Proved. To. Be. That life has proven him to be.

My edition:

“There are two types of people. The Talkers and the Listeners.”

When you strip the statements down to their basics, the fundamental is identical. Takers = Talkers. Givers = Listeners

I’ve been seeing — rather, listening — to it in action for the past 1-1/2 hours. At a cafe. Two gals guesstimated 20-21 years old at the next table.

The blonde has been yammering yammering yammering for just about the entire time. Spilling out her evidently boyfriend problems in dull dramatic detail. “Like he said this, then I said that, then he said he didn’t know how to do that, and I said …” you get the picture.

Her friend with long dark hair has been listening listening, rarely commenting and even more strikingly not riveted to her cell phone, which is the modern American custom.

Irony is, from what I overheard before popping in the earbuds and dialing up Pandora, the gist of the Talker’s — the blonde’s — ceaseless chattering is Dull Drivel.


oops, dozed off

Meanwhile, the friend with the straight long raven hair who’s hardly said anything comparatively has much more to talk about. Much more interesting content at least.

She’s about 6 months pregnant.

I am that Raven. Minus an infant-in-creation. Or the hair.

I’m the one who Listens Listens Listens Listens Listens Listens and Listens to the entire world. To the entire fucking world.

I am the Giver in my dad’s equation.

And in this current scenario, the Blonde Chatty Cathy is the Taker. Take take take take taking up air space. Taking up time and energy from Raven — who should be cited for her patience.

This scene got me thinking. If Blonde Chatty Cathy is already so ENGROSSED in her own adolescent-y stuff, is such a selfish Taker and Talker at age 20 (ish), what’s she gonna be like when she’s 30, 40?

Because by that time, you can’t blame Diarrhea of the Mouth on youth or immaturity.

I can tell you what she’s gonna be like: One in an infinite number of middle-aged women who doesn’t shut the fuck up.

It’ll be all about her, her kids, her husband, what they’re doing, not doing, what she said, what they said …. blahblahblahblahblahblahblah ………………..


So dad, you were absolutely spot-on.

There’s two kinds of people in the world: The Takers and the Givers.

The ratio in my observation: 80% to 20%.

AND: There are the Talkers and the Listeners.

That ratio: 95% to 5%.

Praise the lord for Pandora and earbuds!! — for without ’em, well, either I’d-a grabbed the long hair of Blonde Chatty Cathy and dragged her outta the cafe caveman/woman style …. or this post woulda been bursting with profanities!

The final word I leave to this dear ol’ dude:



No exchanges, no returns. Was it really Christmas?!

It wasn’t the best of Christmases, it wasn’t the worst of Christmases.

… to spin from the famous opening sentence in the Dickens’ novel.

It was OK. There was a handful of highlights. There was baaaaaad behavior. Not related to family but the public. (see prior Starbucks post!)

Lemme ask: Does anyone really LOVE Christmas?!

I know such people exist. I’ve met ’em. My boss at one of my jobs is one. I marvel at their love of Christmas as I might an Olympic runner. “Amazing feats. Amazing athlete. But that’ll never be me. Never can be.”

Halloween, that’s my holiday.

Anyways, Christmas 2016 is past. I’m glad. I survived. Endured. What especially differentiated this one from most is that I wasn’t at some really shitty job that I hate. Any holiday, nee any DAY where I’m not so engaged, well, it’s a good day.

So attention turns now to New Year’s. In Japan, a much much more celebrated holiday than Christmas. You can take the girl outta Japan but you can’t take Japan outta the girl.

As usual, I have no plans. It sucks. It means I have no friends to call. No intimate get-togethers with one or close circle of 4-6. Means while life’s better than in the past, I’m still a long long long long long long long ways from the life I’d envisioned or would want for myself. Let’s get real: need.

I was at Costco the other day. Commented to one of the food-demo gals or possibly a passing customer: “There is a Santa. But there is no God.”

The words just spilled out of my mouth, as they oft do. Taking me by surprise, not in content but articulate expression.

I DO believe in Santa.

And I do and I don’t believe in God.

It’s complicated. I believe in part that there’s a God. But he’s not a loving or good God. Evidence abounds. Plus I have personal proof.

I hesitate to outright say I believe in God but he’s bad. I’d say vengeful and bad in the sense of not-good.

Anyways, ’tis the season of reflecting on big matters and the big man upstairs.

Thinking ahead, I need life to be better to me than it’s been. I need more from life than I’ve gotten or received. 2017 is an especially significant one for various reasons. I can’t have my decade in my 60s — 60th birthday in March! — as a repeat, rather, continuation, of my 50s. Or 40s. Two decades to “wipe off the proverbial personal map.”

Thing is, how do I get what I want. When what I want does not exist. Does not exist in this town (or most).


So much for any lingering good cheer of Christmas! 😀 😀

Best shut up before this takes on a rambling quality and let this post just traaaaailllllll offfffffff ………

Btw, about that headline. Every year I receive one present: homemade cookies from my son. So I ask: Without a gift to exchange or return — aka the National Pasttime of millionS of Americans beginning today — can it really be called Christmas?!?

I think not.

And I think so.

Mercury & Miscellanea on Monday

We pause our regular programming for this announcement:

Mercury turns direct this week! Thursday, September 22 at 1:30 in the morning East Coast time (so 10:30 Wednesday Pacific Coast time).

Resumes direct motion at 14 degrees Libra.

So whatever’s have wonky … delayed … out of sorts … out of sync … frustrating  … needing adjustments then more adjustments to fix those adjustments! … those heightened annoyances, oversights, errors, miscommunications … that sense of trudging through mud uphill will abate!

The brakes will be lifted and the car can move forward again — as of around Saturday.

Takes a few days to shake off the retrograde dust and be in the clear to initiate action, sign contracts, say what you mean and be heard for what you mean, generally progress or get things moving forward again.

End of September’s stacked with notable astrological shiftings on the heels of Merc turning direct on the 22nd (or 21st depending on location):

The equinox, in Libra, on Sept. 22.

Pluto turns direct on Sept. 26, after 5 months of retrograde. Distant Pluto  moves like molasses so extended retrogrades are normal, unlike quicksilver Mercury.

Mars enters Capricorn on Sept. 27, finally moving past its own retrograde cycles through summer basically. (Mars rarely retrogrades so its effects are noticeable.)

Last but not least: The new moon Sept. 30. In Libra, at 8 degrees so it’ll pass over the spot — at 14 Libra — where Mercury turned direct.

My take on all this is that these past 6 months, or from about April, have been Movers and Shakers. Shakeups. Shakedowns. Really big moves thwarted, frustrated, incomplete or if completed only with arduousness, effort and muscle — physical, mental or both!

Like, say, a series of earthquakes and tremors that keep on comin’!

Perhaps all that change, upheaval, chaos has been welcomed. Perhaps not. One thing’s for certain: It’s been confusing! Taxing even. Scary – probably. Because of the Pluto, Mars and Merc retrogrades and other planetary alignments.

Come October, things’ll begin to settle some. New realities will begin to take hold, stabilize. Fresh or altered situations and alliances will find their groove and/or you within them.

In short, everything or anything that got tossed up into the air in a seeming free-for-all-fall since spring’ll begin to make sense.

If earthquakes haven’t shaken your life, count yourself lucky!! haha, kidding. Everyone’s natal chart is unique, thereby enhancing or mitigating these universal shiftings.

Nonetheless, no one can escape ’em entirely! Unless you happen to live in a cave or atop a mountain maybe. 🙂

Anyhow, enough astro ramblings for today. Just wanted to note Mercury turning direct anon and other newsworthy shifts as September rolls into closure.

Reckon October’ll bring a flowy-ness that’s been in short supply for a while. I’m looking forward to it! And to Halloween, just around the corner. It’ll be here before you can say BOO!

Love that Labor! But Ohhh the Beauty of a Burger …

Everything has a place and everything in its place* — and the dust of the move is settling as those things find their place.

*the singular truth I’d have contributed to humankind had someone not beat me to it.

My Genius Mind at Work

I’m impressed that I made it work. That I took a buncha incongruent parts and constructed within a tiny confined space a whole that flows. If it could be humanly done — as opposed to alien-done, their superpowers at bending, transforming, reshaping, shapeshifting exceed our own — I’m the one to do it.

In this 3-D world, always comes down to spatial reasoning and conceptual thought / intelligence / genius.

My little bedroom, though tight with furnishings, is functional. Doable. Livable. Yey to my brain for being so darn smart in figuring out the solutions to this space puzzle!

Labor Day. More Like Play Day!

Today is Labor Day. Accordingly, I shall be laboring away while most Americans shall be playing, kicking back with BBQs, holidaying, chilling, doing nothing, enjoying these dog-day summer days on the precipice of autumn.

I love labor! But oh what I’d give for a burger. A good burger. A work of art. The quintessential joy of a true American / Westerner.

Early in the year, there was a staff change at the station. I took on the shifts of the retiring member. Only one hour a day added to my normal weekend night shifts. I did it willingly, gladly. The station needed the help and I needed the extra hours (even if only 4 a week).

The result: I work 7 days a week. An hour here. An hour there. 8 hours here. 6 hours there. For a PT sum of 23 hours a week.

I’ve not had a day off since early this year.

Handcuffed. No Relation to Jail.

It’s wearing me out. I can’t go anywhere. Can’t travel. Not even a day trip. So my contemplative musing this Labor Day isn’t appreciating the value of labor and work ethics. Got that wisdom in spades! I wrote the book on work!

Well, maybe I didn’t write it. That might’ve been my dad, haha. But I sure as hell co-authored it!

Learning to work is NEVER my issue. Mine is: how do I work less! Rather, restructure my work life so that there’s space for me. For fun. For travel. Exploration. Adventure. A change of environment. Fundamental needs for my soul.

There’ve been shifts at the station recently that trouble, distress me tremendously and deeply. Give me pause. Give me reason to reconsider my heretofore solid commitment to that workplace.

It’s Mercury retrograde now (until Sept. 22), hence not the time for decisions or actions! It’s the time for the REs:







So that’s how I’m celebrating my Labor Day! Reflecting on where I’m at, where the workplace is at and becoming, where I’d really like to go.

In the words of the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld, NO SOUP FOR ME! Or grilled burgers and potato salad at the Labor Day picnic as the case may be. 🙂

May your Labor Day be one of productivity and gratitude for those fortunate to have jobs they love.

For those who don’t — either for unemployment or underemployment or jobs they hate — may your Labor Day reconnect you to your dreams and true self.

Wise Words

To close in the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.:

“All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.”

I mourn the loss of work ethics in America. That man, I know, shares the sentiment and on this day dedicated to the value of work is rolling over in his grave.


Color therapy isn’t just for humans

It was a ghetto when I moved in.

A tired, dingy, beaten-up and beaten-down mobile home rental circa 1960s.

So I immediately painted every room (with the landlord’s permission, naturally).  And witnessed, by my own hand and efforts, a total transformation.

Visually at any rate. The space still has issues from previous tenants. The ghosts and residues of traumas and bad shit that went down, none of which I care to revisit.

Much progress has been achieved in cleansing the space, stripping the toxic energies from the walls and floors in some 9 months of residency.

There’s one room — the only room — where the negativities are especially thick and heavy. The bedroom. It’s not only traumatized, it is haunted. (I had nightmares every night when I first moved in.

While much improved from then, the room’s psychic damage lingers. The healing’s a slow ongoing process.

Many modalities are applied toward that healing — not the least of which includes:

Yes, color therapy isn’t just for people! It can soothe, heal, invigorate and calm spaces too!

Since the bedroom was/is the darkest (not strictly in terms of natural lighting) and most haunted room, I painted two walls the cheeriest of colors: sunflower yellow. After blue, it’s my favorite color.

The color perked up the room — absolutely!

Maybe like giving a depressed room Prozac!

(I don’t do meds for depression or anything else unless absolutely medically necessary so that comment’s based solely on some reports of improved mood and state of mind due to Prozac.

Perhaps the color perked it up too much!

I’ve experienced considerable restlessness, insomnia, wakefulness when I want to be sleeping and other assorted chronic sleep disorders.

Yellow is a high-vibration color. It is quite stimulating mentally, uplifting, active.

So after umpteen hours studying feng shui (a passion for some time now), compass readings and such, I decided to tone it down. To lose the yellow — rather, most of it — for a softer less-vibrant but earthier softer color to soothe the space.

A citrus orange. Which, despite its name, looks nothing like an orange peel! Rather, a soft coral with a splash of orange.


citrus orange paint

P.S. For the past couple weeks, my yellow closets have been “spiffied up” by some 30 paint chips from Home Depot and Scotch tape! I’d stand there, study ’em by daylight, by lamplight, move ’em around like checkers on a board, favoring this shade over that. I didn’t take this switch-eroo lightly! Especially ’cause I really do love sunflower yellow! A part of me is sad to see it go. So as a compromise, I’m leaving a portion of trim and built-in drawers that optimistic yellow.

Having finally selected the paint a couple days ago, this afternoon I began painting. The citrus orange — in reality a light coral by light reflection — is a big change! It’s earthy. Soft. Soothing. It pairs nicely with the soft turquoise on the other two walls.

It even harmonizes with the carpet — as much as any color can harmonize with 1970s Hunter green shag! Ugh. Nuthin’ I can do about that. Except draw the eye away with beautiful colors on the walls!

I’m about 1/3 done with painting. One wall’s still bright sunflower yellow, the other this new coral-orange shade. It’ll be interesting to see how I sleep tonight. IF I sleep tonight!

I absolutely know that colors have a profound impact in any environment. I’m exquisitely sensitive TO my environment AND to colors so this promises to be rather interesting.

Will I come to sleep better? Will my restlessness abate? My insomnia lessen? Will the bedroom become the calm sanctuary I’m seeking to create? Will the ROOM itself shed more of its ghosts and traumas? Become less haunted, further healed?

Questions for today, answers another day.

For now, a nod to a most favorite flower:



A Bar to Remember

Not that sort. Sorry, folks. This kind:

refrigerator door bar

refrigerator door bar

It’s a bar that goes on the inside of a refrigerator door. It sits in front of a built-in narrow shelf to restrain items like condiments, small bottles or containers.

When I moved in, that bar was already misshapen by stress. Bulging in the middle from restraining items too big for its capacity. So it was only a matter of time until it … yes … snapped! Who among us couldn’t say the same for ourselves?! 😉 It broke smack in the middle.

So, to repair, I rejoined the broken ends with strapping tape. It worked.

A conundrum arose when I was learned I must move. The bar. And not the fun type with whiskey and beers, laughter and tears!

In short — eight words to be exact: My property management company’s not to be trusted.

Its reputation for fining tenants for even the slightest repair, like a nail hole, and withholding deposits by the chunks if not entirety precedes them. I’d tell you its name so you can read one bad Yelp review after another after another but I wanna take no chances! Especially since I’m very soon to move and NEED that deposit!

Soooooo, I removed the strapping tape and tried to repair it. First with epoxy. Didn’t hold. Tried Superglue. Ditto.

That left one option. Buy a new bar.

Not as simple as it sounds. Fortunately the label on the fridge back is intact, enabling me to get the model number. With that, I was then able to identify the part number from a schematics map — thank you Internet! Schmematics with so many parts listed and labeled that it looked to be for a rocketship instead of a refrigerator!

After calling around locally for a used part and getting zilch, I succumbed to the only remaining option: Buy the replacement part: new. Not as easy as it sounds!

Evidently this part is no longer widely available. The only place that had it for a “decent” price was

So it appeared.

After ordering and waiting and waiting for a part that never arrived, I contacted them. Via a live chat. They don’t have a telephone option. Everything’s email or chat. That shoulda been my first clue.

When I asked when I’d be receiving the order, couldn’t answer. Save with: “It’s on back order.”

“What?! I wasn’t told that when I ordered.” Sidenote: I need that bar. Because I’m moving.

Her response in short: “You didn’t ask.”

“WHATT?!? It’s up to the CUSTOMER to ask about whether a product is backordered?!?”

“Yes. To check whether we have it in stock.”

Were that I could reach my hand through the computer screen and bop her head on her desk hard a dozen times!

And I’m being civil!

“The manufacturer gives an estimated delivery date of July 27.” Or some such. Estimated. Translation: no idea when it’ll arrive.

After not one but two glorious {cough cough} live chats with two different women, I decided: This is ridiculous! Enough! Immediately cancelled my order. Requested a refund. Washed my hands of ApplianceZone for infinity and pledged to spread the word by blog or by mouth!

So after all the less-than-impressive-something-smells-shoddy dealings with ApplianceZone, how’d I come to get a bar?

Sears. Good ol’ Sears.

They carry the Magic Chef fridge. And parts. The same part through Sears is about double the price at ApplianceZone. OUCH!

BUUUT! They could get the part. Ship it at no cost, as a courtesy said the very nice and helpful Sears lady. ON THE PHONE! No live chat!

And deliver the part within a week. So she said.

And so it is. The bar arrived this morning. Well-protected in its big box and the right size.

The punchline? The price. The bar’s about 19 inches wide, 2 inches wide and made of cheap clear plastic (no doubt made in China). Whaddya think this cost?

Magic Chef fridge door bar

Magic Chef fridge door bar


Answer: About $40. Or 53 Canadian dollars. Yessirree, Bob!

But! Though it cost a small fortune for what it actually is — a slice of easy-to-break cheap plastic — I consider it a steal. My landlord would’ve charged two or three times that to replace the taped-up broken bar! Assuming, that is, that they would’ve.

Many things, you just can’t attach a price tag. This fridge bar’s one. What I lost — my patience with and regard for for starters … also pushing forward through the aggravations and major hassle of simply identifying and locating the part! … I gained in peace of mind, thanks to strength of foresight. My landlord can’t screw me over on this one!

And THAT deserves a toast. At a real bar!